What's done is done
by HPslashSPNLuver92
Summary: Part 4 of my mini series. AU, OOC, very minor SLASH. Sick!Harry. -"Oh, God" Sam lifted a hand to his mouth in horror. "What have I done?"- Can Sam heal the damage he caused for the ones he loved?


******ULTIMATE DISCLAIMER:** Every content, character, plot etc. that anyone is able to recognize as other's property is **NOT**** mine. I have no intention to get into any trouble involving law and money.**_**  
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******ULTIMATE WARNING:** So far most of my stories are turning out to be SLASH and MPREG. So they may contain mature, Male/Male Relationship and not so graphic sex scenes between two men. If you can't stand these or don't want to read them, please leave this story behind!

**AU, OOC. Very minor SLASH. Sick!Harry. Rated M for safety.  
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**Hey everyone! Here is Part 4 of my mini series. This is a long one, so I hope you're happy. I'm sorry if it's not that good as the ones before, but I had a bit of a hard time writing this.  
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**It looks like there's gonna be one last part of this and I want to end ****it **** in a lighter, but sexier tone. However, I NEED HELP! I need a good music to help me write it. So: could you recommend me a rock song that is good in a stripper club? Something that suits Sam somehow. You know, like with Dean and Warrant's Cherry Pie in The Song Remains The Same. So, PRETTY PRETTY PLEASE help me! I need this last thing to write the last part of this series.  
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**Alright! Enjoy the story!**

* * *

_**What's done is done**_

The hunt had been a piece of cake.

The Winchesters had strolled into this little town, slightly more improved than they'd ever been in before. They'd found out the baddy-of-the-week in an hour: a simple, lower-ranked demon. They'd found its lair, an abandoned farmhouse and they'd crashed the party with guns blazing. The demon had been just a little bit smarter than them: it'd fought with all its might. Knocking Sam into the wall, it had gone for Dean, but before the older brother could've reacted, the demon had halted, shock written all over its face.

When Dean had looked over he'd seen Sam on his feet, hand shot out towards the demon in a familiar pose. The only difference between this Sam and the one in the past had been the smooth brow. Dean hadn't seen any sign of strain or pain on his brother's face. That was when he'd known the plan had worked.

Sam had closed his eyes, concentrating on the demon. Almost immediately it'd lit up in golden then after a flash the body had crumpled onto the ground. Dean had checked the poor girl and he'd seen that she had been breathing and alive. He'd made sure Sam was alright: the younger man had been gazing at the body in surprise, sometimes glancing at his hand in awe, but he'd seemed perfectly okay. Dean had finally called 911 and they'd gotten the hell out of there.

Now, Dean was standing in their motel room, his phone in his hand, wishing for the device to start chirping, wanting a certain name to flash on the screen. The silence was tense for a minute now, since Sam, who was sitting on the end of his bed, head lowered, had uttered out two words in shame:

"I'm sorry."

Dean glanced at his brother then pinned his gaze back onto the tiny screen of his phone. He noticed that Sam was wringing his hands nervously. His head was bowed so low that for a moment Dean thought the younger man's neck would snap in two. Chestnut-brown bangs were hanging in front of his hazel eyes like curtains, hiding the shame pouring off of Sam's posture.

He finally decided to just dial the number instead of waiting. While he listened to the monotone beeping of the dial tone, he said to Sam:

"Go take a shower and get some sleep! You're exhausted."

He knew how sorry his brother was from the way Sam did what he was told: completely docile. Dean was a little taken aback by the silent compliance, since he'd never seen it ever since his brother entered his teenage years. Turning his attention back to his phone, the usual beep of being guided to voicemail filled his ears and he snapped his phone shut a bit forcefully. He was starting to get worried.

* * *

It was late afternoon in another no-name little town. Dean was sitting in the motel room, bored out of his mind, his fingers twiddling with his phone. There wasn't any sign of supernatural here, although Sam had parked himself in the library that morning and hadn't been back yet. The kid had been completely silent the whole day, but Dean'd had some other things in his mind. He paid attention, though, to act normally with his little brother and it had its results: the tension between them eased up a little.

Dean threw his phone down onto the bed in frustration and buried his face into his hands. Where the hell could he be? It had been four days now… He was getting more anxious by the second. He was really close to just pack their stuff up, fetch Sam from the library and…

A soft pop echoed in the room, causing Dean to freeze. His eyes popped open: he recognized that sound anywhere. He slowly looked up and to the source, not daring to hope…

"Harry…"

There he was. Harry was standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen. Dean's heart broke at the pitiful sight in front of him. The boy was completely drenched, his clothes, the ones he wore to impersonate Ruby, and his long ebony locks were stuck to his skin. The eyeliner ran down onto his cheeks in smudges, the pale skin was whiter than a ghost's. It was a bit bizarre that he knew that for a fact. Two thin arms were wrapped around a slim torso, shoulders hunched, giving the boy the most childish and vulnerable look Dean had ever witnessed.

"Oh, Harry…" Dean breathed, standing up slowly. Glazed, glittering emeralds followed his movements. "Were you out there like this for all this time?"

Harry was silent, looking at Dean like he didn't even register that someone spoke to him. After a second, his mouth curved down and a light sob broke out of him. Dean hurried to the boy and pulled him into a tight embrace. The soft crying was muffled by his shirt and he leant his head onto the damp locks. He closed his eyes in misery as he felt the strong shivering and the cold water dripping out of Harry's clothes. He let the boy cry out his pain.

Soon Harry pulled away and Dean took a look at his face. The pale face was now sporting a tint of a strange color and the emeralds were unfocused. Before he could do anything, Harry gagged and threw up onto Dean's shirt, coughing pathetically. Dean forgot about his shirt immediately, when his hand touched Harry's cheek: the boy was burning up. He swore under his breath then led Harry gently to his bed, sitting him down onto the edge. He ran into the bathroom for a warm, dry towel and got a nightshirt out of his bag.

After drying Harry and getting rid of the drenched clothes, Dean dressed the sick boy into the shirt, which was twice as big as Harry, and tucked him into his bed. Harry's eyes were still glazed over, but the warm blanket helped: the shivers slowly subsided then vanished. Dean got a bowl of cold water, another towel and the thermometer. The numbers showed a high fever, so he wetted the towel and began wiping at Harry's brow, face and neck. Small whimpers and gasps were the only response to the bite of the coldness on heated skin.

He was working silently for a few minutes, until the towel warmed up from the heat emanating from Harry. Wetting it again, he folded it and carefully laid it onto the hot forehead. Harry's eyes were closed now, finally falling asleep, his wheezy breaths the only sound in the room now. Dean watched his friend worriedly. What could have happened to Harry for him to show up this sick? Why hadn't Harry tried to contact him?

His thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the motel room door.

"Dean, I'm back!" Sam called out. Dean stood up quickly and walked into the kitchen. He was thankful that their room had a wall separating the beds from the kitchen. He found Sam at the table putting some bags down.

"Did you find anything?" he asked. Sam shook his head.

"No, I…" Sam's eyes widened when he looked up at his brother. "What happened to your shirt?"

Dean was confused by the question. What was Sam talking about? Then he looked down and saw the yellow stain on his shirt. Now that he noticed it, his nostrils were filled with a bitter smell. With a grimace he turned around.

"I'll change" he muttered, taking the dirty shirt off.

"Dean, wait! What's g-?" Dean knew the moment Sam's voice cut off that his brother saw their guest. Throwing the shirt onto the pile of dirty clothes, he faced the scene. Sam was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, mouth hanging open at the sight of a fragile, sick, sleeping Harry Potter in one of the beds. The long black locks were spread out on the pillow, already half-dried. Dean stepped to the bed and pulled the blanket up to Harry's chin, tucking the boy in more thoroughly. After that he walked to Sam and steered him out of the room and into the kitchen.

"When did he arrive?" Sam asked worriedly. "What the hell happened to him?"

"He appeared not too long ago" Dean answered. "He was drenched to the bone and he's having a fever. A high one."

"Oh, God" Sam lifted a hand to his mouth in horror. "What have I done?"

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked confused. Sam leaned against the table, the shame from before radiating off his posture.

"Don't you see?" Sam spoke, his voice shaky from shame. "He disappeared four days ago and now he's back like this? I caused this. I made him sick… I hurt him…" Sam buried his face in his hands. Dean, not able to bear the self-destruction in front of him, pulled his brother into his arms, comforting him gently.

"What's done is done" he murmured, stroking Sam's trembling shoulders. "But you can make up for it. We need to help Harry pull through this illness. We can't take him to a hospital, who knows what would happen there."

Sam nodded then pulled away. Wiping at his face he composed himself, ready to do anything to nurse their friend back to health.

* * *

The next morning arrived with a little chill, as the colder weather came closer. The motel's parking lot was empty except one spot that was occupied by a sleek, black Chevy Impala. The owner of the vehicle stepped out of the motel room in front of the car and drove away, silence taking up the place.

Inside the warmer room, the air was filled with small gasps, coming from one of the beds. The pillow and the blanket were covered with waves of ebony black hair, the bangs falling onto a folded towel lying on a clammy forehead. One trembling hand was resting on the blanket, while the other was twitching on the pillow.

Sam was sitting on the other bed, watching the frail form of Harry Potter next to him. He was still shocked to the core from the sight. When he'd met Harry, he'd seemed so strong, sucking up the biggest torture with gritting teeth and no sound. Was it just a cover, a mask like Dean's smartass behavior? Dean told him that Harry was in hiding from his people in Britain because of his power.

Sam sighed, scrubbing at his face tiredly. Now the powerful wizard looked like a little boy with pneumonia, only relying on the adult's care to get better. He was so motionless, whimpering and gasping from whatever he's seeing in his mind, sometimes jerking like he was shouted at.

A pathetic whine and frantic movement snapped Sam out of his thoughts. He quickly jumped up and sat onto the edge of Harry's bed, seeing the distress. He laid a hand onto the erratically jumping chest and began petting the black locks. At his very first touch Harry settled down with a wheezy sigh.

Sam was amazed by this amount of trust. Every time Harry had been with them as a help in a hunt and his dreams had been plagued with a nightmare, only Sam had been able to calm him with a simple touch. Sam remembered the first time he witnessed one of these night terrors:

_It was a hunt for a demon not long after their father's death. The brothers had gotten a phone call from Harry, who needed help to track the thing down. They met in the motel Harry was residing in and discussed everything the boy found out. Harry was in his goth-phase that time. After a long debate and plenty of research, they found the demon's identity and left the motel together to hunt it down._

_ The whole thing was a disaster. The demon wasn't alone as they first thought, but the three of them had an advantage with Harry's power. The disaster was the thing's mental torture on them. It found out every hidden little things from their past, the most painful stuff they'd lived through. Dean was seemingly used to that kind of attack and Sam was holding his own up against it, but just barely. However, the biggest hit landed on Harry._

_ The boy had so much bad in his past that the demon had a field day ripping him apart emotionally and mentally. Before the brothers could do anything, Harry broke: with a scream he let his power loose, killing every demon in the place. The light that filled the room was blinding and Sam felt someone pull him onto the ground and covering him with their own body. He instantly knew it was Dean._

_ Only when the 'whoosh' of the spell died down did they dare to look up. What Sam saw broke his heart: Harry was huddling in the middle of the room, surrounded by the circle of dead bodies. The silence was only broken by soft sobs coming from the boy. Dean immediately joined Harry on the floor, pulling him into an embrace and when Sam knelt down next to them, he was surprised by Dean pulling him into his arms, too._

_ "Everything will be okay" Dean whispered into their ears, still the strongest of them. "It's over, they're dead…" Sam buried his face into his brother's shoulder, fisting the leather jacket, while his other arm around Harry's shaking shoulders tightened. His guilt over the innocents dying because of him slowly slipped away, feeling of safety from Dean's hold replacing it._

_ After a few minutes, all three of them calmed down and returned to the motel room. They were exhausted, so after a shower they went to bed, Dean taking the couch after tucking in both Harry and Sam. For once Sam didn't complain about Dean's hovering, just soaking the care up. He fell asleep almost instantly._

_ When Sam woke up, he was greeted by a horrible scream that cut deep into his gut and heart, tearing it up into little pieces. He shot up, turning to the source and found Dean sitting next to Harry, who was trapped in his nightmares._

_ "Didn't mean it…" Harry cried out, still trapped in his nightmare. Sam had a guess that it was a memory triggered by that demon. "NOOO!" Sam flinched at the tormented scream and could only watch as Dean struggled to calm Harry down. A couple minutes later Sam couldn't bear the suffering his friend was going through: he sat onto the other side of Harry's bed and caressed the sweaty tresses tenderly._

_ "Shhshshshhh… It's okay… You're safe…" Sam murmured, petting the short hair. To his and Dean's great astonishment, Harry's face smoothed out, his cries stopped abruptly and his distressed movements settled. When Sam moved, however, to return to his own bed, Harry began whining again, straining unconsciously towards Sam's touch._

_ "You should stay with him" Dean whispered to his brother. Sam nodded and lay down next to Harry, pulling the boy into his arms. As lithe fingers curled around his T-shirt, fisting the material, Sam felt something deep inside him come alive, pulling in, as he later realized, Harry's magic. He felt warm and content with the boy safely tucked into his side, his arms protectively embracing the small body beside him._

Ever since that night, when Harry had had a nightmare, Sam had been at his side in a moment's notice to sooth him back to sleep. And ever since that night, Sam had felt closer to the boy, a feeling blooming in his heart that had swept him off his feet with more strength than his love for Jess had done. However, when Dean had made the deal for Sam to live, he'd squashed every emotion down to the bottom of his heart, trying to harden his heart against the time when he'd had to part with his brother.

Now, as he stroked Harry's beautiful, black locks, the feeling from that night resurfaced. The guilt that he felt over Harry getting ill was accompanied by that overwhelming emotion, greeting him as an old friend. With the rush it came, he couldn't stop himself to lean down and press a soft kiss onto the boy's flushed cheek.

With a sigh he rewetted the towel and laid it onto Harry's forehead again, eliciting a small shiver from Harry. The brothers were getting worried because the fever wouldn't back off to give a chance for Harry to fight back. If it doesn't change, they had to risk the hospital.

Another sigh escaped Sam, as he caressed Harry's locks one last time then stood up to return to the kitchen. His laptop was waiting for him, where earlier Dean was searching for a method to help Harry. Sam knew, though, that they would have to get out the big guns. If they don't do it quickly, Harry won't get through the day.

Sam collapsed into his chair, swiping at his face. He felt the headache from the night before pound in his brain again. Harry had had a fever dream, screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night. Dean had been the one to help the boy, despite Sam's offer to help. They'd stayed up all night, Sam more readily than Dean if that was possible. He hadn't listened to Dean who'd told him to go to sleep after Harry's screams had quieted to soft sobs. By the time dawn had peeked in on them, Sam had joined his brother in taking care of Harry, and when the sun had completely risen above the horizon, Sam had fallen asleep with an arm around the sick boy's waist, while Dean's head had rested on Harry's chest, his legs dangling over the edge of the bed.

Thanks to that incident, Sam didn't get much sleep, because a couple of hours later he'd been woken by Dean, who'd left for breakfast and some provisions, leaving Sam watching over their friend. Sam, of course, had jumped to the opportunity to help, since he was still feeling guilty for causing Harry pain.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he attempted to will the headache away.

"Drink…"

The weak, soft voice startled him, as it came from next to him completely out of the blue. When he looked up he saw Harry's swaying, unsteady form, the boy holding his wrist out towards him.

"Harry" Sam spoke worriedly. "You shouldn't be out of bed." With that he steered his friend back to the bed, pushing him gently down onto the mattress. As he covered the small, feverish body, he caught a glimpse of red. Looking closer, he found a deep cut across Harry's wrist that the boy had offered to him. "What happened to your wrist?" he asked silently, already getting the first-aid kit to treat the injury. He got no answer, so he looked up: Harry was just looking at him with glazed eyes, his face in perfect confusion. Sam pressed a cloth onto the cut, until the bleeding stopped then reached for the kit to stitch it, but the wound slowly closed up, the skin completely smooth, like there wasn't a cut there a second before. Sam looked into the glittering emerald eyes, cupping his friend's face.

"Gosh, you're burning up" he breathed and stood up to search for the wet towel. However, as he lifted his leg to step away, a surprisingly strong grip caught his wrist and yanked him back onto the bed, his back against the headboard. Before he knew what was going on, a warm, slim body straddled him, pinning his shoulders down. When Sam got the control of his senses back, he met with determined emeralds in front of him. A moment later, Harry looked away and Sam realized that the boy wasn't wearing anything other than the big shirt. He swallowed but followed Harry's gaze just to distract his thoughts – and he regretted it.

Harry pulled his finger across his wrist, the same Sam had treated just a few moments ago, and a deep cut followed the trail of the fingertip. Sam watched with horror as the blood welled up then dripped down Harry's thin wrist, landing on the sheets. Then Harry lifted his hand up to Sam's mouth. Sam realized what Harry wanted and turned his head away in disgust, feeling horrible for dragging Harry into his mistake.

"Drink…" Harry repeated, his tone full of care and forgiveness, moving his wrist to Sam's mouth again.

"No…" Sam choked out. "You don't have to…"

"You… need it…" Harry breathed. Sam shook his head again, feeling tears gather in his eyes. Harry then lowered his wrist and turned Sam's head forward. Emeralds pinned onto scared hazels. "You need it…" Harry repeated, his tone understanding. He pulled his finger across his wrist again, the previous cut already healed without a trace. As blood dripped down again, Harry cupped Sam's cheek and pressed a feather-light kiss onto the man's lips. Sam couldn't help but answer it, leaning in with a sigh that came out more like a sob. As he pulled away, Harry lifted his wrist again and held it to Sam's mouth.

"Drink…" he whispered, his voice even weaker. Sam looked at him pleadingly, but at the stubborn determination in Harry's eyes he caved. He gently took hold of the boy's wrist and opened his mouth, sealing his lips onto the cut. He felt nauseous as the thick liquid filled his mouth, but he willed himself to swallow it. His body recognized the action and a moment later, he languidly sucked at the cut, almost purring when Harry began petting his hair. It wasn't the fact he got blood, it was the care and love pouring out of Harry's sacrifice and touch that helped his mind to adjust to what he was doing.

"Good…" Harry breathed, leaning his forehead to Sam's temple. Sam moved his hand to intertwine his fingers with Harry's, who squeezed them with as much strength as he could. As a soft kiss landed onto Sam's cheek, the man couldn't hold his tears back anymore. He pulled away from Harry's wrist shakily, watching as the cut disappeared, leaving only a bruise behind, the only trace of what Sam had to do. Harry wrapped his arms around Sam's neck and pulled him in, Sam hugging him back. "Okay… You're okay…" Harry crooned tenderly, caressing Sam's tresses.

"Harry" came a voice from the doorway. Soon Harry was pulled away from Sam, who remained in his seat motionless.

"He… needed…" Harry whispered.

"I know" Dean replied and got Harry into the other bed, retrieving the wet towel and replacing it on the boy's forehead. "But you need sleep. I'll take care of him."

As soon as Harry's head hit the pillow and the cool relief returned, the boy fell asleep. Dean watched his friend, his mind wandering away. When he'd stepped into the room, he had frozen in his place from the sight. Sam had been on the bed with Harry on his lap, and he'd been drinking Harry's blood. Judging by the tightly shut eyes and the tear tracks slowly appearing on Sam's cheek, this hadn't been exactly consensual. He just hoped that Sam will be alright, not just because of catching the illness, but from the guilty trip his brother would most likely invest in.

He was startled by a pair of arms suddenly squeezing his torso. Looking down, he saw a mop of chestnut brown hair, face buried into his shirt. Sam was kneeling next to him, shivering madly, like a child wishing for his brother to make it better. Dean slowly slid off the mattress and onto the ground, embracing his little brother tightly. Sam buried his face into the crook of Dean's neck, his shaking getting worse and worse by the minute.

"Are you alright?" Dean asked, testing Sam's responsiveness. Sam shook his head, fisting Dean's shirt.

"It's okay" Dean comforted his brother. "Harry wanted it. I'm not mad." His words were welcomed with the momentary tightening of Sam's arms. Dean rocked his upset brother, just holding him together, protecting him.

A few minutes went by silently, Sam's shivering not ceasing and Dean's worry doubling. When Sam jerked violently, Dean decided to ask:

"You gonna be sick?"

As soon as he felt the meek nod against his shoulder, Dean pulled Sam up and walked him into the bathroom. Even when he knelt down with the man, Sam didn't come out of his hiding place. With much coaxing, Dean pried his brother off. Sam was as white as a sheet, a trickle of blood decorating his chin, starting from the corner of his mouth.

"Did you bite your tongue?" Dean questioned quickly, but Sam just shook his head, eyes shut tightly. Dean then understood. He guided his brother towards the toilet, Sam grasping the porcelain tightly, Dean's hand holding Sam's head and hair. Sam shivered violently now, his nerves wracked by the effort his stomach made to keep everything inside. When Sam tensed up, both of them knew it was a losing battle.

Dean bowed his head in pain when the bathroom was filled with hard retching, just like when Sam suffered from withdrawals. But while back then nothing came out of the young man, now he was throwing up the blood Harry had just coaxed down his throat. Dean used his free hand to stroke Sam's back, just like when they were kids and Sam got the stomach flu. Sam's muscles unwound just like those years ago, and Dean felt like he was a big brother again.

Minute after agonizing minute Sam lost everything his stomach accepted so far and was lying on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor with Dean behind him, a soothing hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"Wha's wrong wimme?" Sam slurred exhausted.

"I don't know" Dean answered honestly, squeezing his brother's shoulder. "Maybe you don't need blood anymore. Maybe you're finally over your addiction. Or perhaps Harry left something out. He was delirious."

Sam shivered, hoping against hope that the first one would be true.

"Looks like we have no choice" Dean spoke grimly. Sam closed his eyes, knowing what his brother exactly meant.

"We have to" he mumbled, more to convince himself than to his brother.

"Why don't you lie down?" Dean offered. "I can handle him."

"And if he lashes out?" Sam asked, sitting up. "You could get hurt. Or worse…"

"I can't just sit by and do nothing" Dean argued as they stood up.

"You don't have to" Sam turned to him. "Just promise me to get out if I say so. I can protect myself, even more thanks to Harry. But you don't."

Dean finally gave in and they stepped to Harry's bed. Sam sat down and woke Harry up.

"Hey, Harry" he whispered. Slits of emeralds gazed back at Sam, who stroked Harry's arm tenderly. "What do you say to a bath?" A small moan was a reply, but the boy reached out towards Sam in compliance. Sam instantly lifted him up in bridal style, moving slowly not to make his friend dizzy. When he stepped into the bathroom, the bathtub was already half-full with cold water. Dean helped Sam to take Harry's shirt off without putting the sick boy down, who shivered from the sudden cold. Sam knelt down slowly and leaned forward, carefully lowering Harry's body towards the water.

The moment Harry's foot and backside touched the water, an ear-splitting scream exploded in the room. Harry clawed at Sam's shoulder, trying to escape from the pain the coldness caused on his skin. Sam lowered the sick boy into the water quickly and held him down. Another tortured scream tore through the air and the mirror above the basin exploded into a rain of shards.

"Dean, get out!" Sam shouted and the man complied instantly. When Dean was outside, the door slammed behind him and the lock turned with a click. After another crash, everything went quiet, but Dean didn't dare to get closer, fearing from the power behind Harry's unleashed magic. He couldn't believe that Harry would settle down so soon. Could it be that Sam somehow soundproofed the bathroom? Perhaps with a spell?

Feeling anxious for his little brother and his friend, he began pacing. Every time he passed by the door, he glanced at it waiting for it to open. He focused on the silence to hear the click of the lock, hoping that nothing went wrong inside and wishing for time to move faster. At last, his wish was granted: the lock turned and the door opened slightly with a squeak. Dean instantly rushed in, but halted when he took a look around.

"What the hell?" he muttered, watching as everything moved on its own: the mirror's shards flew above the cracked basin and mended itself, the tap that flew off was now screwing itself back into its place, the stuff in the cupboards neatly zoomed back in, the furniture's doors sliding themselves back onto their hinges. The shower's curtain stitched itself into one, the showerhead straightened from the bend in the middle, just like the towel holders.

In the middle of everything, Sam was kneeling next to the bathtub, Harry half in his arms, half in the water, Sam gently wiping the flushed, feverish skin with a soft, wet towel. To Dean's great relief, Harry was shivering madly, meaning that his body finally took up a fight against the illness. The long, wavy, ebony locks were hanging over Sam's shoulder to avoid the water.

"You need any help?" Dean asked quietly, afraid of another explosion.

"Yeah" Sam looked at him with a smile, exhaustion evident on his face. Dean realized it was Sam's powers repairing the whole bathroom. "Could you get a towel to dry him?"

While Dean searched for the requested item, Sam put the used towel down and lifted Harry out of the tub. The boy's teeth clattered from the shivers wracking his body. The brothers efficiently worked on Harry and soon the boy was tucked into bed in a fresh nightshirt and a pair of shrunken boxers. Sam lay next to Harry with a sigh and watched as Dean took their friend's temperature.

"How much?" Sam asked when Dean slumped with relief.

"It's almost completely down" the man answered.

"Good" Sam said just before falling asleep, his body completely worn out from the happenings. He didn't notice the blanket drawn over him or the hand stroking his sweaty hair off his forehead.

* * *

Dean was shocked out of his sleep by a loud sneeze next to him. He sat up groggily and saw Harry awake, wiping at his nose with his shirtsleeve. Sam was still out cold next to him and as Dean got out of his bed and stepped closer to the pair, he noticed the two holding hands, fingers loosely intertwined.

"Hey, Harry" Dean whispered, taking a seat next to his friend. Harry looked up at him miserably, but his eyes were clear. The boy's temperature was finally normal. "How do you feel?"

"Whadya thigk?" Harry croaked out, his nose stuffy. Just as he got those words out, his head snapped forward with another sneeze. He covered his mouth with the shirtsleeve just in time.

"You're sick for two days and you just start sneezing now?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Dot two" Harry admitted ashamed. "Four."

"How many days have you been in the rain before you came here?"

"… Four…"

Dean shook his head in exasperation but didn't comment. He laid a hand on Harry's forehead, who tried to shy away but to no avail.

"At least your fever's down" Dean said. "I'll go and get you some soup and tissues. You just stay put and don't wake Sammy up, okay?"

"'Kay" Harry nodded, nestling into the mattress and pillow. When Dean left the room and the Impala's rumble drove away, Harry pulled his and Sam's joined hands towards himself. Sam shifted from the movement and moved closer to Harry. The boy caressed Sam's cheek with his free hand, just watching the peaceful expression on his friend. He remembered the night he ran away. Sam's words hurt so much more then the hit on his arm. They tore into his heart, spreading the infection of hurt and disappointment through his veins. For the four days he spent in the rain in a dark forest, he didn't do anything but mourn his feelings. It was his fault, though, that he got sick. It wasn't Sam's. And he would do anything to convince his friend about it.

He felt the tell-tale tingle in his nose and sucked in a sharp breath before erupting in a huge sneeze. He jerked so hard that Sam startled awake, as well. Sam looked at Harry confused, before remembering the day before. He scrubbed at his eyes, not hearing Harry's snigger at the adorable sight.

"Mornin'" Sam yawned, his body relaxed from the remnants of sleep.

"Bordigg" Harry replied, blushing faintly at his congested voice. Sam chuckled at that. "Thangks" Harry said.

"You remember?" Sam asked worriedly.

"'B sorry" Harry watched sadly as Sam averted his gaze. One raised eyebrow indicated that he noticed their joined hands, too.

"I couldn't stomach it" Sam confessed silently. "I just… threw it up…"

"Thagk Berlid" Harry sighed. At Sam's worried look he elaborated: "That beans you dod't deed it. You're powerful dow. You dod't deed by help."

"Yeah, I do" Sam blurted out and slid closer to Harry, wrapping an arm around the boy's waist and laying his head onto Harry's shoulder. "I need you…"

Harry combed his fingers through the chestnut-brown locks, enjoying the closeness with shut eyes.

"I'b here" he breathed into Sam's ear, feeling the man's tense muscles ease up from his words. "I'll always be here if you deed me… Add I dever leave you…"

When Dean returned to the motel room, he took in Sam and Harry sleeping in each other's arms with a relieved smile. Maybe they could beat this… Lilith, the demons and everything in their way… The three of them, together.

_The End  
_

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**So, it wasn't that bad, was it?**

**Please Read and Review, and help me with the song! It would be much appreciated.  
**

**Alright, see you!  
**


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